


you fought for me

by mickeysmiddlefinger



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, and everyone is doing drugs and drinking, kavinsky is his own trigger warning, ronan and kavinsky might kiss, ronan fights prokopenko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysmiddlefinger/pseuds/mickeysmiddlefinger
Summary: me [10:43 pm]what do you know about the dreams?kavinsky [10:44 pm]come to my house and i'll tell you. bring drugs or bombs or both. see you on the other side, baby.where ronan ends up at one of kavinsky's substance parties while gansey is out of town.





	you fought for me

**Author's Note:**

> the fact that ronan and kavinsky never got to kiss kept me up at night, so here is how their first and only kiss could have been. this is my first attempt at both ronan and kavinsky, so be nice.

This isn’t one of Kavinsky’s regular substance parties. Ronan has seen the races, and the drugs, and the bombs. That is to be expected of Joseph Kavinsky. This is more than that. This is bloody knuckles, swollen eyelids, Skov throwing up in a corner, blood dripping from his nose. I shouldn’t be here, Ronan thinks.

His eyes scan the room for Kavinsky, but it is hard to see anything in the dim, smoky light of the vast room. He spots Prokopenko on a worn leather couch, laying down with a joint between his lips, his head resting on Jiang’s knees. Ronan approaches the pair. 

“Ronan?” Prokopenko says and looks up at Jiang, his eyes red from the weed. “I told you he’d show up. You owe me twenty bucks.” 

“Where is Kavinsky?” 

A smile forms on Prokopenko’s lips. He raises his arm and points behind Ronan. Ronan turns around, his lips parting slightly at the sight of Kavinsky, shirt off, sunglasses pushed up on his head. His skeleton knuckles are red and bloody, clenched into a fist. Ronan watches as Kavinsky swings at his opponent with a smile on his face. He is bleeding from his lower lip. The other man, both older and bigger than Kavinsky, dodges him and hits back, punching Kavinsky perfectly across the face. Kavinsky spins backwards and lands on the floor, his manic laugh overpowering the music blasting from a pair of speakers. He looks up, getting ready to stand up and fight, when he sees Ronan. He smiles at him and mouths something that looks like bitch. Ronan walks up to him, hands in his pockets. He wishes Gansey was here. 

“I’m in the middle of a fight, man” Kavinsky says and stands up, wiping blood from under his nose. “Can’t you see?” 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“About what, sweetheart?” 

Ronan takes a menacing step forward, his patience running dry. “Don’t call me that. Can we go somewhere and talk? I have things to do.” 

Kavinsky places a hand on Ronan’s chest, his eyes glittering. “You came to my party. You remember the rules, right? A substance for a substance.” 

“I’m not here to get fucked, man” Ronan says. “I don’t have any substances.” 

“Then you have to do something else to get my time” Kavinsky says and puts his sunglasses on. “Tick tock, Lynch. I’m getting bored.” 

“I have the keys to the Camaro” Ronan says after a pause. 

Kavinsky grins. “Not in the mood. What else have you got, huh? I can get one of the boys to tattoo you, that would get my attention.” 

He puts his fingers on Ronan’s temple. “J.K in big, fat letters, right here. Prove to Dick that you’re no one’s but mine.” 

Ronan swats away Kavinsky’s hand from his face and shakes his head. 

“Never mind” he says. “I’m out of here.” 

“How about a fight?” Kavinsky says and raises his head. “You beat Proko and then we’ll talk.” 

Ronan stops. His muscles are tense under his t-shirt. He glances at Prokopenko, smoking a cigarette on the couch, the floor covered in gray ash. Prokopenko is the weirdest-looking guy Ronan has ever seen. His arms are too long for his body, his eyelids too heavy, and his mouth too wide for his face. It’s like his proportions doesn’t make sense. Ronan feels a fuse light up inside of him. He knows he can take him. When he looks back at Kavinsky, he sees that Kavinsky knows it too. 

***

Kavinsky’s pale fingers turning up the volume. Electronica spitting out of the speakers. Prokopenko on the floor in front of Ronan. Ronan’s shirt sticking to his sweaty back. Everything happens in flashes except for Kavinsky’s howl echoing in Ronan’s ears. He feels a hand around his wrist, bringing him back from his dissociative state. It’s Kavinsky, lifting Ronan’s arm into the air. 

“The winner is” he howls, “Ronan fucking Lynch!” 

Kavinsky leans into Ronan’s ear. 

“You fought for me” he whispers before he tilts his head back and chugs alcohol from a bottle. 

The crowd cheers around them. Ronan jerks away from Kavinsky’s loose grip and heads out to find the bathroom. He looks himself in the mirror and washes away the blood on his face until he finally recognizes himself again. If Gansey was here, he would grab Ronan by the arm and take him out of there.

“Ronan. Lynch” he would say in that voice only he can do. 

But Gansey is not here. It’s just him and Kavinsky and a bunch of people too drunk or high to even remember this night. God, how he wishes Gansey was here. Or Adam. Or Noah. Hell, even Blue. He opens the cabinet above the sink to take his mind off the fight. The shelves are filled with pills, razors and used toothbrushes. Ronan grabs one of the white pill bottles and reads the label. Methadone. 

“See anything you like?” 

He turns around, Kavinsky’s eyes looking back at him. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to get fucked.” 

“Can we talk now?” Ronan asks impatiently. 

Kavinsky nods. “Party is over anyway. I sent everyone home except Proko, he’s passed out.” 

Ronan puts the Methadone back on the shelf and closes the cabinet, watching Kavinsky in the mirror. Kavinsky looks back at him. 

“What’s with the bedroom eyes?” he asks warmly. “You wanna get it on?” 

“I need help with the dreams” Ronan says. 

“I’m a man of justice” Kavinsky says and smiles. “You won the fight, so you got my undivided attention. Let’s talk dreams.”

***

It starts with Ronan asking questions and Kavinsky answering them. Do you have night terrors? Sometimes. How do you control them? I practice. When did you first know? Too early. After Kavinsky has had too many beers and a bruise begins to blossom under Ronan’s eye, the conversations changes. They’re on Kavinsky’s couch, one of his mixtapes playing on repeat in the background. 

”What do you see in Dick anyway?” 

Kavinsky takes a drag of his cigarette, smoke rings dissipating from his pale lips. Ronan tries not to look at the shape of his mouth, but it’s getting harder not to notice the curves of his smile. 

“Fuck you, man.” 

“Touchy subject?” 

“What the fuck do you see in Proko?” 

Kavinsky sits up, supporting himself on his elbows. For the past hours, they haven’t been broken boys jumping in and out of dreams, hiding behind a dreamt up raven and a pair of white sunglasses. For the past hours, they have just been boys, talking and cracking jokes and glancing at each other’s lips and shit, Ronan really shouldn’t be here. His brain feels like something Kavinsky could have run over with his car. He glances over at Kavinsky, his eyes black and red, a reminder of the cocaine left forgotten on the table. 

“Jealous?” Kavinsky asks. “I didn’t know you were such a little bitch.” 

“Am _I_ jealous?” Ronan scoffs. “You asked first.” 

“Proko is mine” Kavinsky says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dick, man. You’re just a stain on the collar of his fucking shirt.” 

“I don’t want to talk about Gansey.” 

Kavinsky puts the cigarette in a glass ashtray. He watches it burn to death and reaches for another one. His lighter is white, just like his Mitsubishi, with the word THIEF engraved in big letters. He holds the flame in front of him for a couple of seconds before he lets go. 

“I mean, I get it, man” he says and lies down next to Ronan, the cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his lips. “I saw the way you were looking at him on the dragstrip. Like he’s the only fucking pill left in the bottle.” 

Ronan takes the cigarette out of Kavinsky’s mouth and puts it out. 

“What do I need to do to get you to shut the hell up?” 

Kavinsky laughs hysterically and claps his hands together. 

“Woah!” he yells. “There it is! That’s the Ronan I like to see. Not the Gansey’s dick-sucking little bitch you turn into around him.” 

Ronan clenches his teeth together. “I said I didn’t want to talk about him.” 

“Then get me to shut the hell up.” 

Kavinsky turns his head to look at Ronan. His eyes are wild, but there is something else in his hollow expression. It looks so out of place that Ronan can’t figure out what it is. Kindness? No way. Vulnerability? Probably not. Kavinsky is not capable of being vulnerable. If one of them breathes, this will turn into a kiss. 

“I’m in your head, baby” Kavinsky whispers into his mouth and grazes his lips against Ronan’s.

The touch of Kavinsky’s lips begins like a promise, an unwritten contract, before he puts a hand around Ronan’s neck and pulls him closer. His tongue teases Ronan’s lower lip as the kiss grows harder, wilder, sharper. This isn’t a promise anymore, this is a fucking explosion. He bites hard into Ronan’s lip. 

“Fuck” Ronan says and puts two fingers on his mouth, blood trickling out of it. 

“Now you’re mine too.” 

Ronan exhales sharply. He’s burning, and he can’t tell if it’s from the touch of Kavinsky’s lips or the curve of his body or the venom from Kavinsky’s bite. 

Fuck, Ronan thinks, I’m going to hell. 

“I have to go” he says and rolls off the couch. He can still taste the tobacco, a reminder of Kavinsky’s tongue in his mouth. 

“Why do you have to be such a pussy sometimes, man?” 

“I just came to talk about the dreams, okay?” Ronan says and looks around the messy room for his jacket. It’s littered with beer cans, broken bottles, and empty Marlboro packs. 

“Then stay and talk about the dreams.” 

Kavinsky stands up and gets in front of Ronan, a smile tugging on his lips. Ronan tries to walk past him, but Kavinsky mirrors his moves. 

“Get out of my way” Ronan says, staring into Kavinsky’s coked out eyes for a few seconds before he resumes his search around the room. “Where is my jacket?” 

“Come on, Lynch” Kavinsky says and puts both hands on the back of his head. “Just – fucking stay.” 

Ronan hates the look on Kavinsky’s face, hates the way he is begging him to just fucking stay, hates his hands running through his hair at the back of his head. It makes Ronan want to grab Kavinsky and kiss him until their lips are bruised, but Kavinsky’s lips are the invitation to a deep, dark hole of despair and Ronan can’t afford to go there. He finds his jacket under a pillow. 

“I’m out.” 

As he turns around, something sharp flies by him. A green beer bottle, smashed against the wall. Ronan exhales sharply walks out the door, slamming it behind him. He looks in his pockets for the dream-keys to the Camaro when he feels his phone buzz. 

**kavinsky [5:13 am]**  
do you close your eyes and pretend it’s me when dick puts it out for you? i do with proko

Ronan curses under his breath. The phone buzzes again. 

**kavinsky [5:13 am]**  
pretend it’s you, i mean

Ronan clenches his fist and walks out the front door, to Kavinsky’s driveway where the Camaro is parked. His breath is stuck in his throat, where Kavinsky put it. His phone buzzes. 

**kavinsky [5:15 am]**  
you fought for me 

Ronan takes a deep breath. 

**me [5:15 am]**  
yes. i did.


End file.
